The Best Man: Part One (4 page)

Noah draws his eyebrows together. “What d’you mean?”

“Why not wait until the spring, when it’s warmer?”

“I dunno. It’s what Connor wanted.”

Noah’s answer makes Patrick give a wry smile. “In a rush, is he?”

“Maybe he just can’t wait to marry me,” Noah says, his tone cheekily confident.

“I never thought he’d settle down.”

“Why’d you say that?”

Patrick pauses before answering. “We’re two of a kind, me and him. Always have been. And
I
can’t imagine settling down, so…”

Noah looks at him. There’s not a hint of mirth on Patrick’s face now. “Sometimes people grow up.”

“I’m grown up,” says Patrick, looking Noah flat in the eye. “I’m just realistic.”

“You don’t think marriage is realistic?”

“I don’t think it’s realistic that you can love someone so much that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with them.” Patrick speaks matter-of-factly, nothing to his tone but pure honesty. “Just that one person. It’s why the divorce rate is so high.” He uncrosses his arms from his chest and rubs the back of his neck. Noah gets the impression he’s not used to sharing his thoughts in such a way. But he continues, if only to hammer home his opinion. “What’s the point? Don’t waste the only life you’re given on a single bet.”

Normally these kinds of statements would annoy him, because he’s a romantic, and he thinks love is a good thing, and if you can settle down with someone who makes you happy then you’re pretty much set for life. But debating with Patrick would mean breaking this spell of calm that’s drifted over them, and he doesn’t want that.

There’s a hint of sadness in Noah, though—that Patrick doesn’t think there’s any place in life for true love. It must be lonely, whatever he tells himself.

“You’re very jaded,” Noah says now, “considering you’re not even that old.”

“I’m two months younger than your fella,” Patrick points out. “Apparently you like them old.”

“I like
him
. Age has nothing to do with it.”

“Like him, huh?” And of course Patrick would twist it. He seems to revel in friction, enjoy conflict.

“Love him,” Noah says firmly, playing up to the bait. “I love him.”

“So much that you’re prepared to give the rest of your life to him?” Patrick raises an eyebrow. He’s challenging Noah, and Noah no longer feels calm and relaxed.

“What’s your problem? You’re meant to be his best friend.”

“Which is why I’m looking out for his best interests.”

“You don’t think I’m in his best interests?”

There’s anger bubbling under the surface of Noah now, because he doesn’t understand why Patrick’s doing this, what point he’s trying to make, why he’s attempting to bend Noah’s mind and make him
doubt
.

“I don’t know you.”

“No,” Noah says firmly, tension seeping into his bones. He brings the knife down through the carrot like he’s trying to slice away at this conversation. “You don’t. Fuck,
shit
.”

Blood blossoms over the tip of his finger instantly, drips onto the chopping board and over the blade of the knife. He lifts his hand to his face and sucks his finger into his mouth, eyes watering against the sting.

Patrick takes his wrist, tries to pull his finger out of his mouth. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine,” Noah says, inspecting his finger, tasting blood that hasn’t stopped leaking out of the cut.

“Let me
see
, Noah.”

The authority in his voice makes Noah go with it and he allows Patrick to pull his hand across to his view, stands there as Patrick twists it and looks at it from all angles before pulling it under the tap, runs ice-cold water over it. Noah flinches, and it’s like the pain has sucked away his anger. He’s quiet inside now, and he stands there with his finger under the tap, Patrick holding his hand steady in his gentle grip.

Noah looks up into his face. Patrick’s not looking at him, his attention caught by the blood siphoning off Noah’s finger. His brows are drawn, the corners of his lips tight, and Noah lifts his uninjured hand to Patrick’s face, brushes against the very edge of his jaw, the designer stubble.

Patrick’s only reaction to the touch is to flick his eyes across to him for an instant.

“How long have you had this thing for?”

The tightness of Patrick’s lips eases, his face smoothing out. “I was born with it.”

“Suits you.” Noah can’t help but smile, and he can tell by the softness of Patrick’s eyes now that he’s resisting a smile of his own.

He shuts off the tap, lifts Noah’s hand to examine the cut.

“You’re fine, it’s not deep. Got any plasters around here?”

“That cupboard there. Top shelf.”

Connor comes in while Patrick’s in the process of securing a plaster around Noah’s finger. “What’s going on here?” he says, dropping his keys into the fruit bowl and frowning at what Patrick’s doing.

“Cut myself, didn’t I?”

“Idiot.” Connor’s tone is fond, and he lays a soft kiss on Noah’s temple as Patrick steps away, throws the plaster wrapper in the bin. “This looks good. What are we having?”

“Stir-fry.”

“I’ll just go get changed.” He gives Noah’s backside a tap and wanders out of the kitchen. “Pat, you sticking around for dinner?”

Patrick looks at Noah, a question in his eyes. Noah smiles and gives the barest hint of a nod.

“Yeah.”

“Have we got any beers in, Noah?” Connor calls from somewhere near the bedroom.

Noah sighs, turns back to the cooker, checks his vegetables haven’t burnt during all the commotion.  “Don’t think so. I’ll go to the shop.”

Patrick’s hand settles on Noah’s back suddenly, warm and heavy. “I’ll go,” he murmurs, and it’s as if it’s for Noah’s ears only. “You’re cooking.”

It’s a gentlemanly notion, and it surprises Noah so much that he forgets to object.

* * * * *

Noah doesn’t see much of anyone over the following week. Connor’s models are busy with their winter shoots, and Patrick always seems to be doing something or other, as evasive as ever. Noah occupies himself with work during the day, solitary wedding planning in the evening. He reckons he’s got the seating plan down, and the invitation responses are starting to come in, so he’s gathering final numbers for Lenny’s catering.

The only real time he gets to spend with Connor is when they have tea at Connor’s parents’ one afternoon, an awkward two hours that has Noah biting his tongue and his skin itching by the time they leave.

Patrick he sees fleetingly. Early in the morning; coming in late at night. Noah doesn’t know what he does, doesn’t want to know. It’s not his business.

Julie comes into the coffee house on the Thursday. She’s in a panic, because life’s getting on top of her, unable to pay rent, college costs mounting up. Noah knows the feeling all too well from his days living with her, the pair of them twisting themselves up to pay the bills—the daily grind of struggling to make ends meet, of never feeling as if you can relax, as if things will just work. Nothing ever just works out for people like him, or Julie. At least not until he met Connor.

He walks her to the cashpoint despite her protests and draws out money from the shop’s account. She’s burning with embarrassment as she accepts it, but it doesn’t come close to the humiliation he feels when he has to ask Connor to replace the funds. The shop can’t afford to give money away, and he explains to Connor about having to dip into the account, about Julie’s struggles with finances.

Confiding in him results in Julie rushing back into the shop on the Friday afternoon, beaming and glowing with happiness. “He’s only gone and paid my rent and college fees for the next year,” she says, breathless, and when Noah says, “Who?” she answers with her eyes wide, “Connor.” And suddenly Connor’s got another fan, won another person over. It makes him irrationally angry, can’t really figure out why, and half an hour after Julie’s left the coffee house he’s still in a foul mood, Ron busying himself in the kitchen, out of Noah’s way.

It makes sense, therefore, that Patrick would choose that moment to pay his first visit to the shop, looking pristine and polished in his black suit and crisp white shirt.

Noah greets him with a blunt, “What do you want?” which makes Patrick raise his eyebrows.

“Bad time?”

“No. Just busy.”

Patrick looks around at the empty shop, then back at Noah. There’s unwelcome humour lighting up his eyes. “Clearly.”

“Look,” Noah huffs, “have you come in here to buy something, or…?”

“I’ll have a coffee, if that’s not asking too much.”

“Why would it be asking too much?”

Patrick stares at him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to rip my head off?”

“It’s not you,” Noah says after a moment, deflating with a heavy sigh. “I just…”

“Go on.” Patrick’s frowning now, all trace of humour gone.

Noah doesn’t feel comfortable discussing his relationship issues with Patrick, especially when the relationship involves Patrick’s best friend. He can’t speak his mind, because Patrick’s loyalty is to Connor. “Nothing.” He attempts a smile, waves a hand up at the menu board on the wall. “Cappuccino? Latte?”

Patrick doesn’t look at the menu. “Just a plain white coffee. Three sugars.”

“No one needs three sugars,” Noah says, tutting, while fiddling with the coffee machine.

“I do.”

“You’ll get fat.”

“I’ve been taking three sugars my whole life,” Patrick drawls. “Does it look bad on me?”

Noah looks over his shoulder at him. Despite himself, he gives Patrick’s body a once-over, his cheeks warming when he realises what he’s doing. “Not yet,” he admits grudgingly, grabbing the finished coffee and putting it on the counter in front of Patrick. “But you’re getting older.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me old. Could give a fella a complex.”

“I’m not calling you old. I’m just saying you’re not young.”

“Because that’s better,” Patrick says dryly.

Noah can’t help it. The smile that spreads over his face this time is genuine, and the sight of it seems to warm Patrick’s eyes.

“Here.” He nudges the coffee closer to the edge of the counter. Patrick’s hand closes around it.

“Thanks. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” says Noah. “It’s fine.”

“Thanks. Keep smiling,” Patrick adds just before he turns to leave. There’s an honesty to his tone that puts a hitch in Noah’s heartbeat. “Looks good on you.”

Ron edges out of the kitchen after Patrick’s gone, Noah still staring at the door as if hooked on the sight of it.

“Who was that?”

Noah pulls himself together, shakes off the weird feeling thrumming in his chest. “That’s the guy I was telling you about,” he says, looking over at Ron. “Connor’s best man.”

Ron frowns. “The arrogant, annoying one?”

“Yeah,” Noah says awkwardly. It sounds harsh coming from Ron now.

Ron says, “Huh,” with an underlying significance that Noah can’t ignore, as much as he wants to.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Ron smiles, even if Noah can’t see what’s funny about the situation. “You seem more cheerful now.”

He pretends to catch his attention on a document slotted down by the till. “I was fine before, Ron,” he mutters.

“Right.”

* * * * *

Noah gets the text from Connor as he’s shutting up the shop for the night.

Hey babe, pub tonight?

He heads home to shower and change before going to the pub, still deciding how to handle the situation with Connor. It isn’t that he’s not grateful for what he’s done for Julie, because he is. Noah could never have provided for her the way Connor has so easily. But something about it niggles at him—like Connor’s stepping on his toes, encroaching on his territory. Julie is
his
. Connor barely even knows her, hasn’t taken the time to get to know her—as far as Noah’s aware. Why he would think it’s a good idea to financially support her so spectacularly is anyone’s guess, and he can’t let the matter go without saying anything.

The pub’s quiet when he gets there, and he stands at the bar, waiting for a member of staff—any member of staff—to show up from out back or upstairs or wherever they’re hiding rather than working.

Patrick walks in while he’s still waiting. Noah’s surprised to see him, but more surprised to see him out of his suit. He looks different in his black jeans and plain grey long-sleeved top. Softer around the edges, but also harder—the soft material of his top clinging to the curve and cut of muscle in a way that makes Noah’s mouth run dry. Beneath those clothes is a body that could ruin him. Noah actively tries not to think about it.

Patrick spots Noah and comes over, half a smile on his face as if he’s pleased to see him but can’t really be bothered to show it.

“Did Connor invite you here?”

“Yeah, why?” says Patrick. “Is that a problem?”